


Not all miserable people die unhappy.

by Astronomical_Aphrodite



Series: surrender is for cowards, a saga of dubious usefulness and morality [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Armitage Hux Lives, Armitage Hux is Not Nice, Fix-It, Gen, Injury Recovery, Second Chances, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21985780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astronomical_Aphrodite/pseuds/Astronomical_Aphrodite
Summary: Armitage Hux always thought that he would die with the First Order, but surviving was always a pleasant surprise.
Relationships: Armitage Hux & Dopheld Mitaka
Series: surrender is for cowards, a saga of dubious usefulness and morality [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582669
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	Not all miserable people die unhappy.

When he was little, Armitage’s mother had told him stories of the endless sea.

Together in their small cottage, she’d curl up with him in bed, holding the holy books of the _Cael Maese_ in her lap. She would read their weathered pages to him while Armitage looked at the hand-painted images that accompanied the passages, tucked underneath her arm and listening intently while she narrated how their world was formed, and how its first human inhabitants were born of fish that wanted to pluck the fruits off of the trees that they could see on the beach. His mother would say that when she died, she would return to an endless sea where she would swim with their ancestors for the rest of eternity, and that when it was his time as well, he would join her. Arkanis was a poor backwater planet with backwards technology and an economy based solely around exporting soldiers and fish, but its culture was vibrant, and its variety of folk religions was impressive.

The idea that he could see her again even after death was something he took comfort in after she died and he was forced to live with the unfaithful father he hadn’t known existed, his several half-siblings, and his father’s wife. Despite his status as a bastard, Maratelle had taken him in with open arms, although her marriage was never the same. Eventually, the New Republic gained control of Arkanis, and at the age of five or six, Brendol Hux took him with his family in the imperial exodus from the planet that followed shortly after. He lost his faith quickly after that, severed from his old life and relegated to a childhood spent on starships. His military education burnt any remaining sentiment from him, and over time, he’d grown to believe that after death came nothingness, even for so-called ‘Force sensitives.’ While not every creature in the galaxy was born equal, they certainly died on equal standing.

All of his rank-climbing was all for naught in the end, anyways. He’d lost consciousness the moment the blaster bolt struck his chest. He had expected his death to come from Ren’s scarlet lightsaber, coming swiftly the moment that he sensed his betrayal, but he should’ve expected that Pryde would learn of his defection soon enough. He had lived as a servant, and he died a mole for the organization he’d wanted nothing more than to destroy.

Needless to say that it was a surprise when he blinked open his eyes again, head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton and mouth dry as sand, his first thought was that he hadn’t expected to wake up again. It wasn’t the all-encompassing void he’d believed in prior, nor was it the endless sea his mother had promised, os he concluded that as it was neither, he could only have been alive. His conclusion was compounded by the presence of an oxygen mask fitted over his mouth.

Looking to his right, flinching against the bright light streaming in through a tall glass window in the side of the room, he saw Mitaka sitting in a wicker chair with a book in his lap, legs crossed at the ankles and posture lax. The outfit he was garbed in wasn’t First Order regulation, bearing no insignia on its sleeves, but it wasn’t casual, either, with its stiff grey coat and black pants. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he struggled briefly to sit up in his bed, before surrendering to his exhaustion and allowing himself to relax into the mountain of pillows below his head. “I’m alive,” Armitage croaked weakly, throat hoarse, and Mitaka’s head jerked upwards, his dark eyes widening before he hurriedly shut his book, setting it down on a small table.

“General Hux, sir,” he stuttered, back straightening and hand coming up in a salute. The boy had always been his most loyal officer, and despite his meek attitude, he was terrifyingly competent at his assignments. It was part of the reason he’d risen so quickly through the ranks of the First Order. “We were afraid you wouldn’t make it,” he confessed.

Armitage knew he wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for the heavy blaster-proof armor he’d taken to wearing early on in his career. While it constricted his breathing, being as stiff as it was, it turned blaster bolts that could tear through bodies like paper into concussive impacts that could still bruise organs and break bones, but not necessarily kill. “What is my physical status?” He asked, closing his eyes, and Mitaka cleared his throat.

“Collapsed right and left lung,” Mitaka started, “fourteen broken ribs, a broken sternum, heavy bruising, and a ruptured kidney, pancreas, and gallbladder, along with bruising to several other organs.” It was certainly enough to kill someone, and Armitage knew he was lucky to have survived such severe injuries. While a small blaster might only have caused mild bruising and maybe a broken rib, he had been struck with a large bolt from a heavy-duty military weapon. Recovery would be a pain in the ass. “They needed to remove your gallbladder and kidney,” he continued, “although your pancreas and other organs were salvageable. The tubes they had placed in your chest to allow the excess air to be evacuated were removed this morning.”

Humming, Armitage ran his fingers over the bedsheets, taking in the remainder of his surroundings without his sense of sight. There was the sound of rain splattering against the glass, and he took comfort in the noise. It had been nearly a decade since he’d heard the rain, something practically built into his genetic code. “Where are we?” His voice was scratchy and barely audible, and it was almost embarrassing how much it hurt to talk. If it weren’t for his urgent need to know about what had transpired after Pryde had shot him, he might’ve waved Mitaka away and tried to go back to sleep.

“Well, sir,” he said nervously, “we’re on the planet Arkanis, sir. The port city of, um, Salhaim, specifically.”

That was an unexpected surprise. He forced open his eyes again.

While it was drizzling, the sun was peaking through the grey storm clouds above them, and through the window, he could see the rolling waves of the ocean that made up almost half of Arkanis’ surface area. It was supposedly his home town, although besides the weather, there was hardly anything recognizable about it. Jana’s Rock stood proudly in of the clear, turbulent waters, the only thing marginally familiar, and he could see massive fishing vessels coming in and out of the port.

“After you were shot, sir,” Mitaka continued, “it was the stormtroopers FN-1728 and FN-3761 who were called in to take your, um, corpse away, but one of them found your pulse and ah, well.” He looked sheepish, a blush spreading across his cheeks while he twisted his hands in front of him nervously. Avoiding looking at Armitage, he stared down at the floor, lips purse while he gave his explanation. “I rallied some of your more loyal officers,” he said, “and we deserted, heading for the nearest inhabited planet with medical facilities capable of handling severe injuries like yours, and this was where we landed.”

A coincidence, then. Fate conspiring to make him return to where he came from, although he could barely remember the place, and it had become foreign in his absence. “There were others who traveled with us,” he said dryly, and the former Lieutenant nodded.

“Lieutenants Thanisson, Holyer, Matils, and Unamo,” Mitaka clarified, “in addition to seven of your petty officers, four other higher-ranking officers that did not serve on the _Finalizer_ , a mechanic, a medic and his droid, and nine stormtroopers from the FN corps.”

For not having served under him on his ship, it wasn’t bad. He couldn’t help but wonder if his ship had been destroyed at Exegol like the others, although it had been removed from active service after Batuu. He’d kept barely any members of his original crew when he’d transferred ships, but that meant it was more probable that they’d survived. “Who won?” He asked, slightly afraid of what Mitaka’s answer would be.

“The _Steadfast_ was destroyed by the Jedi Order, allied with the remains of the Resistance fleet,” he explained, “and its destruction resulted in the death of Enric Pryde and the majority of his crew, while the Sith were entirely destroyed. Kylo Ren’s location is unknown, while Darth Sidius has been confirmed to be deceased.” While Armitage was disappointed that the enemy ultimately had been triumphant, the relief he felt that Pryde and his officers had been killed in combat outweighed any bitterness that swelled in his chest at the thought of the Rebels winning. “The Final Order has been officially dissolved, although, um,” he winced, “with the New Republic and First Order also defunct, there is no unitary galactic government remaining.”

“Good,” he huffed. Pulling his blankets up to his chest, he stretched out his legs and toes, taking deep, intentional breaths and ignoring the resulting burn in his lungs. “The galaxy needs to heal.”

“Indeed, sir,” Mitaka said.

There was a flash of orange, and suddenly the love of his life was crowding his face, startling an incredulous laugh out of him. “Millicent,” he gasped in shocked amazement, reaching out despite the way it pulled at the stitches in his chest. He grabbed his feline, pulling her close while she butted her head roughly against his face, and he was so happy to see her that he ignored the embarrassment of having tears slip down his cheeks. His lip wobbled while he pet her, and he looked inquisitively at Mitaka, who was doing nothing to conceal his amusement.

“It was Lieutenant Matils, sir,” he clarified, and if they still were members of a functioning military body, then Armitage would’ve given him a raise, a commendation, and a recommendation for promotion. The whole of his ship, if he could. Millicent curled up in the crook of his arm, and he pulled her close, burying his face into her fur. “He thought to grab her and some of your personal effects while we were, ah, deserting. The staff here almost didn’t allow her in, although I successfully convinced them that she would be a positive aid in your recovery.”

“Thank you, Mitaka,” he croaked.

“My pleasure, General,” the Colonel assured. He’d gone from embarrassed and shy to practically preening, a wide smile splitting his face. Mitaka never was good at being the heartless soldier he was supposed to be, but that was why Armitage had always been fond of the boy. “We’ve been on shifts, the others and I,” he said.

“Help me sit up, please,” he requested, and Mitaka moved forwards, pushing a button at the side of the bed. It converted into a seat, and though his head was swimming and pounding, it felt good to be vertical. Mitaka slipped his away from his head so that they supported his spine, rather than pushing his skull forwards. He was becoming increasingly aware of the pain in his torso, and of the ache in his thigh where he’d also been shot. He was curious to look at the wounds, but that would have to wait until they changed his dressings. “Where have you been staying?”

“Your childhood residence was left to you in your father’s will,” he explained, and that news was even more unexpected than surviving had been. There were several cousins that seemed more likely candidates for inheriting the property, and even his half-sisters with their already extravagant properties and land-holdings were more likely. “With Arkanis’ former status as a member world of the New Republic,” he continued, “you were unable to collect on it, but the property was reserved and maintained in your name after his death. It’s large enough that twenty-eight of us have been able to reside there comfortably.”

What little remained of the First Order was living in his childhood home, while he was nestled comfortably in the bed of a medical center room, recovering from a near-fatal blaster wound with Millicent purring in his lap. It felt very unreal, although he was pragmatic enough to recognize that there was no possible way it could be a dream. He half-expected to wake up and still be dying on the pristine floor of the _Steadfast_ , but he knew objectively it wouldn’t happen. “I suppose that the government of Arkanis is unaware of our presence,” he said, but Mitaka shook his head in negation.

“You’ve been receiving flowers and gifts at our temporary residence,” he corrected, and Armitage was surprised. He’d left the planet at the age of seven, hardly old enough to have local connections. “While overall the economy and infrastructure has positively benefitted from being a member world of the New Republic,” he continued, “working class citizens of Arkanis have suffered, and over the two weeks since we arrived, the local planetary news organizations have taken to lauding you as their savior.”

Warmth pooled in his stomach, and despite his lingering, deeply seated disappointment in the fall of the First Order and impending existential crisis, he knew that he was being given a second chance he knew objectively that he didn’t deserve. He never pretended to be a good person, hadn’t been anywhere near good since his days in the Imperial Academy, but it wasn’t only good people who got happy endings. So long as he played his cards right, they could still rebuild, restore some sense of order to the galaxy.

This time, Kylo Ren wouldn’t be there to fuck him over.

While he still could potentially be out there, skulking the galaxy in search of another Sith lord to lick the boots of, there was also the significant possibility that he was dead. Armitage felt giddy with just the thought of Ren lying dead in the ruins of Exegol, slain by either the Sith, the scavenger girl, or maybe his own damned knights. However it was done, he would be beyond pleased to find out the man couldn’t ruin his life any longer. As it was, his absence would prove to be the defining variable in whether he could succeed in restoring his previous station, possibly even surpassing it.

“Two weeks,” he mused, and Mitaka nodded. He could tell that he’d lost weight and muscle mass, and having already been a thin, wiry man who mostly subsisted on canned caf and standard regulation nutrient bars, it would likely negatively impact his recovery. “We’ll begin a public relations campaign as soon as I can sit without assistance,” he declared, “but for now, if you could inform the media of my recovery, I’d be thankful.”

“Of course, sir,” Mitaka chirped, just happy to be of assistance to him, and the former Colonel left with a bounce in his step, leaving Armitage alone in the medical center room with Millicent.

The door shut behind him, and Armitage closed his eyes again, relaxing in the ensuing silence.

“Well, Millie,” he breathed, “there may be hope for us yet.”

Armitage had always hated the word ‘hope’ and all it represented, but there was no other word suitable to describe what he could feel blossoming in his chest. He never understood what it meant to nurture it, but despite how new the feeling was, he warily kept it close to his chest and allowed it to infect him, roots slipping in between the weathered cracks in his heart that he thought he’d long sealed with nihilism, bitterness, and high-quality Corellian brandy. Being a weed didn’t preclude it being medicinally useful, an herb that could heal the broken parts of his soul that he used to believe was irreparable.

He’d been given a new chance, a new hope, and he wasn’t about to waste it.


End file.
